Breunig: A bishop's plan to heal a diocese

Updated 1:46 pm, Friday, March 14, 2014

Last summer, I wrote a column reflecting on being Catholic during the "era of betrayal" and shared some disappointing experiences covering the church as a journalist.

I ended the column with words I intended as a wish.

"I just believe healing and forgiveness are more powerful than abandonment.

I hope the Rev. Frank J. Caggiano, named this week as the new Bishop of the Diocese of Bridgeport, leverages his Jesuit training by listening to all sides, seeking information and educating those whom he serves. Faith, he will discover, has already been tested in this diocese. Trust will be far more elusive.

I am Catholic. I am not alone. And we'll be watching."

I admit, it's not the warmest welcome I've extended. But it did draw some insightful reflections from readers. Their words offered reminders that faith cannot exist in a vacuum, can become stronger when challenged, and that church leadership has the potential to extinguish faith instead of nurturing it.

A note from a spokesman for the diocese was encouraging, as he pointed out that he shared my observations about "trust, betrayal and faith" with the new bishop.

After noting the reaction in a New Year's column, I received a letter from Caggiano. He chose his words as delicately as I would expect from a man of his education. He also opened the door to dialogue, and did not hesitate to address my challenge.

"I will do my utmost to fulfill your expectations by `listening to all sides, seeking information and educating those whom he serves,' " he wrote.

Given the demands on his position, I was impressed and touched by the gesture. But it took a few weeks before I witnessed the change in the air.

In this case, smoke was in the air as well. When Caggiano entered St. Bridget of Ireland Church in Stamford to celebrate a Mass of Installation for the Rev. Edward McAuley Jr., burning incense triggered the smoke alarms. Caggiano took it in good humor, though I have no idea what he said as the fire department arrived after several long minutes of the blaring alarm. Judging from the packed house, parishioners were anxious to hear from the new bishop.

I approached Caggiono afterward to introduce myself, and to thank him for the letter. We exchanged courtesies. The smoke was no longer in the air and the ice was broken.

Since I did not hear him very well during the Mass because of a ringing alarm in my right ear and my bleating 2-year-old son in my left, I decided to attend Caggiano's address as part of the Civility in America series at Ferguson Library in Stamford Tuesday night. I suspected the event might draw a larger-than-usual audience, but also knew it was competing with Fat Tuesday fund-raisers on the eve of Lent. Shortly before the scheduled 6 p.m. start, the room was overflowing and a second room was opened. Since our company is a sponsor of the series, I had a reserved seat. Once I walked to the front of the crowded room, I was surprised to see a row of empty chairs with reserved signs. I was quickly asked if I would claim one of the seats so the bishop would not have to sit alone.

It did not escape me that this might have been a tad awkward had we not already met ("Hi, I'm the guy who wrote . . ."). Of course, sitting side by side in front of a few hundred people gathered to ponder civility would likely enhance the manners of even a Kardashian.

Given the unprecedented turnout, Caggiano was clearly the rock star of the civility series. He could not have timed his arrival in Connecticut better, as disillusioned Catholics seem to be tuning in to Pope Francis' plans for reform. I acknowledged his drawing power and Caggiano tried out his best line before using it on the crowd: "We should pass around a collection basket."

Caggiano's charm is undeniable, it is genuine and it is infectious. A native of Brooklyn, N.Y., he approaches people like Ed Koch did during his glory days as mayor of New York. He swiveled and cracked jokes in Italian to strangers behind us.

But if his strength is as a man of the people, he strives to ensure banter does not obscure his message. While waiting to step to the microphone, he briefly looked at the prepared speech on his lap and wondered aloud if the crowd was ready for it: "I don't know how this is going to go over."

The audience had fair warning that Caggiano was not about to deliver stand-up comedy. The title of the presentation, after all, was "To Speak the Truth in Love: The Challenge of Religious Discourse in a Pluralistic Society."

Audiences throughout the series have listened to anecdotes of civility between Democrats and Republicans, Yankees and Red Sox. Caggiano raised the game. He quoted C.S. Lewis, he challenged the "mediocre Catholic," he bemoaned the troubled state of discourse between faiths. He transformed the library into a classroom, then into a church during a hushed service. No one left, no one chattered, no one texted. Occasionally, I overheard whispered commentary ("That's a good answer") in response to his responses to weighty questions.

He kept circling back to the need for dialogue, which he referred to as an "art form."

In his most public display of inviting dialogue, he has accepted an invitation to address Voice of the Faithful at 7:30 p.m. Thursday at The First Congregational Church on the Green in Norwalk. The group, which formed in response to sexual abuse within the Catholic Church, was banned from meeting on church property by Caggiano's predecessor, Bishop William Lori. Last week, Caggiano spoke of truth as remedy. Truth, of course, is all anyone in Connecticut really wants from the Catholic Church.

As I experienced, it's easier to have a dialogue when you have confidence the other side is listening. Caggiano is creating the possibilities of rich discourse, but there are years of hard work on the horizon. There are questions that parishioners, journalists and state residents need to keep asking.

As Caggiano moves forward, he'll surely draw from his deep well of experience and education, along with a dash of Brooklyn humor. We unexpectedly met again Thursday night in Darien. I meekly joked that we seemed to be following each other around.

He flashed a wide grin and rapidly motioned his hands back and forth between us. "We're like groupies," he said.

I know which one of us is the rock star, and it's easy to see how he has drawn so many fans so quickly. For me, he steered the dialogue in the right direction with seven simple words he said softly while we were sitting shoulder to shoulder at the Ferguson. They are the words you want to hear from a man of the people who has clarity about his mission: "You know what, it's time for change."

John Breunig is editorial page editor of The Advocate and Greenwich Time. He can be reached at john.breunig@scni.com; 203-964-2281; http://twitter.com/johnbreunig.